^  \ 


LOW  TIDE  ON  GRAND  PRE 


LOW  TIDE  ON  GRAND  PRE: 
A  BOOK  OF  LYRICS:  BY 
BLISS  CARMAN 


$ 


CHARLES  L.  WEBSTER  AND  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS   NEW  YORK    MDCCCXCIII 


i~  ^  /     r  ^ 


Copyright,  1893, 
By  bliss  carman. 

{All  H^hts  reserved.) 


PRBSS  OF 

Jenkins  &  McCowan, 

NBW  YOPK. 


The  poems  in  this  volume  have  been  collected  with 
reference  to  their  similarity  of  tone.  They  are  variations 
on  a  single  theme,  more  or  less  aptly  suggested  by  the 
title,  Low  Tide  on  Grand  Pre.  It  seemed  better  to  bring 
together  between  the  same  covers  only  those  pieces  of 
work  which  happened  to  be  in  the  same  key,  rather  than  to 
publish  a  larger  book  of  more  uncertain  aim. 

B.  C. 

By  Grand  Pr/,  September,  j8g J. 


CONTENTS 


Low  Tide  on  Grand  Pr^ 

Why 

The  Unreturnino    . 

A    WiNDFLOWER       .... 

In  Lyric  Season 

The  Pensioners    .... 

At  the  Voice  of  a  Bird 

When  the  Guelder  Roses  Bloom 

Seven  Things    . 

A  Sea  Child 

PuLVis  et  Umbra 

Through  the  Twilight 

Carnations  in  Winter 

A  Northern  Vigil 

The  Eavesdropper 

In  Apple  Time 

Wanderer 

Afoot    .... 

Wayfaring 

The  End  of  the  Trail 

The  Vagabonds 

Whither 


PAGE 
II 

15 
18 

21 

23 
27 
31 

44 
47 
48 
61 

63 
65 
73 
77 
79 
89 

94 
103 

III 

118 


TO 

S.  M.  C. 

Spiritus  haeres  sit  patriae  quae  tristia  nescit. 


LOW  TIDE  ON  GRAND  PRE 

The  sun  goes  down,  and  over  all 
These  barren  reaches  by  the  tide 

Such  unelus've  glories  fall, 

I  almost  dream  they  yet  will  bide 
Until  the  coming  of  the  tide. 

And  ytt  I  know  that  not  for  us, 
By  any  ecstasy  of  dream, 

He  lingers  to  keep  luminous 
A  little  while  the  grievous  stream. 
Which  frets,  uncomforted  of  dream — 


la  Low   Ti  V  on  Grand  Pre 


A  grievous  stream,  that  to  and  fro 
Athrough  the  fields  of  Acadie 

Goes  wandering,  as  if  to  Icnow 
Why  one  beloved  face  should  be 
So  long  from  home  and  Acadie. 

Was  it  a  year  or  lives  ago 

We  took  the  grasses  in  our  hands, 

And  caught  the  summer  flying  low 
Over  the  waving  meadow  lands, 
And  held  it  there  between  our  hands  ? 

The  while  the  river  at  our  feet — 
A  drowsy  inland  meadow  stream — 

At  set  of  sun  the  after-heat 

Made  running  gold,  and  in  the  gleam 
We  freed  our  birch  upon  the  stream. 


Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre  13 


There  down  along  the  elms  at  dusk 
We  lifted  dripping  blade  to  drift, 

Through  twilight  scented  fine  like  musk, 
Where  night  and  gloom  awhile  uplift, 
Nor  sunder  soul  and  soul  adrift. 

And  that  we  took  into  our  hands 
Spirit  of  life  or  subtler  thing — 

Breathed  on  us  there,  and  loosed  the  bands 
Of  death,  and  taught  us,  whispering, 
The  secret  of  some  wonder-thing. 

Then  all  your  face  grew  light,  and  seemed 
To  hold  the  shadow  of  the  sun; 

The  evening  faltered,  and  I  deemed 
That  time  was  ripe,  and  years  had  done 
Their  wheeling  underneath  the  sun. 


14  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


So  all  desire  and  all  regret, 

And  fear  and  memory,  were  naught; 
One  to  remember  or  forget 

The  keen  delight  our  hands  had  caught; 

Mc.rrow  and  yesterday  were  naught.  • 

The  night  has  fallen,  and  the  tide  .... 
Now  and  again  comes  drifting  home, 

Across  these  aching  barrens  wide, 
A  sigh  like  driven  wind  or  foam: 
In  grief  the  flood  is  bursting  home. 


W/ij/  1 5 


WHY 

For  a  name  unknown, 
Whose  fame  unblown 
Sleeps  in  the  hills 
For  ever  and  aye; 

For  her  who  hears 
The  stir  of  the  years 
Go  by  on  the  wind 
By  night  and  day; 


1 6  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


And  heeds  no  thing 
Of  the  needs  of  spring, 
Of  autumn's  wonder  ^ 
Or  winter's  chill; 

For  one  who  sees 
The  great  sun  freeze, 
As  he  wanders  a-cold 
From  hill  to  hill; 

And  all  her  heart 
Is  a  woven  part 
Of  the  flurry  and  drift 
Of  whirling  snow; 


W/ij^ 


17 


For  the  sake  of  two 
Sad  eyes  and  true, 
And  the  old,  old  love 
So  long  ago. 


|8  Loiv   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


THE  UNRETURNING 

«  - 

The  old  eternal  spring  once  nnore 
Comes  back  the  sad  eternal  way, 

With  tender  rosy  light  before 
The  going-out  of  day. 

The  great  white  moon  across  my  door 
A  shadow  in  the  twilight  stirs; 

But  now  forever  comes  no  more 
That  wondrous  look  of  Hers. 


♦ 


A    Windjiower  19 


A  WINDFLOWER 

Between  the  roadside  and  the  wood, 
Between  the  dawning  and  the  dew, 

A  tiny  flower  before  the  sun, 
Ephemeral  in  time,  I  grew. 

And  there  upon  the  trail  of  spring, 
Not  death  nor  love  nor  any  name 

Known  among  men  in  all  their  lands 
Could  blur  the  wild  desire  with  shame. 


iSk>  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pie 


But  down  my  dayspan  of  the  yeai 
The  feet  of  straying  whids  came  by; 

And  all  my  trembling  soul  was  thrilled 
To  follow  one  lost  mountain  cry. 

And  then  my  heart  beat  once  and  broke 
To  hear  the  sweeping  rain  forebode 

Some  ruin  in  the  April  world, 

Between  the  woodside  and  the  road. 

To-night  can  bring  no  healing  now; 

The  calm  of  yesternight  is  gone; 
Surely  the  wind  is  but  the  wind, 

And  I  a  broken  waif  thereon. 


///  Lyric  Season  21 


IN  LYRIC  SEASON 

Thk  lyric  April  time  is  forth 

With  lyric  mornings,  frost  and  sun; 
From  leaguers  vast  of  night  undone 

Auroral  mild  new  stars  are  born. 

And  ever  at  the  year's  return, 
Along  the  valleys  gray  with  rime, 
Thou  leadest  as  of  old,  where  time 

Can  naught  but  follow  to  thy  sway, 


22  Low   Tide  on  C  "and  Pre 


The  trail  is  far  through  leagues  of  spring, 
And  long  the  quest  to  the  white  core 
Of  harvest  quiet,  yet  once  more 

I  gird  me  to  the  old  unrest. 

I  know  I  shall  not  ever  meet 
Thy  still  regard  across  the  year, 
And  yet  I  know  thou  wilt  draw  near, 

When  the  last  hour  of  pain  and  loss 

Drifts  out  to  slumber,  and  the  deeps 
Of  nightfall  feel  God's  hand  unbar 
His  lyric  April,  star  by  star. 

And  the  lost  twilight  land  reveal. 


The  Pensioners  23 


THE   PENSIONERS 

We  are  the  pensioners  of  Spring, 
And  take  the  largess  of  her  hand 

When  vassal  warder  winds  unbar 
The  wintry  portals  of  her  land; 

The  lonely  shadow-girdled  winds, 
Her  seraph  almoners,  who  keep 

This  little  life  in  flesh  and  bone 
With  meagre  portions  of  white  sleep. 


24    "  Lo2V  Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


Then  all  year  through  with  starveling  care 
We  go  on  some  fool's  idle  quest, 

And  eat  her  bread  and  wine  in  thrall 
To  a  fool's  shame  with  blind  unrest. 

Until  her  April  train  goes  by, 
And  then  because  we  are  the  kin 

Of  every  hill  flower  on  the  hill 
We  must  arise  and  walk  therein. 

Because  her  heart  as  our  own  heart, 
Knowing  the  same  wild  upward  stir, 

Beats  joyward  by  eternal  laws, 
We  muH  ^ns^  ^nd  go  with  her; 


The  Pensioners  %%. 


Forget  we  are  not  where  old  joys 
Return  when  dawns  and  dreams  retire; 

Make  grief  a  phantom  of  regret, 
And  fate  the  henchman  of  desire; 

Divorce  unreason  from  delight; 

Learn  how  despair  is  uncontrol, 
Failure  the  shadow  of  remorse, 

And  death  a  shudder  of  the  soul. 

Yea,  must  we  triumph  when  she  leads. 

A  little  rain  before  the  sun, 
A  breath  of  wind  on  the  road's  dust. 

The  souqd  of  trammeled  brooks  undone, 


26  .  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


Along  red  glinting  willow  stems 

The  year's  white  prime,  on  bank  and  stream 
The  haunting  cadence  of  no  song 

And  vivid  wanderings  of  dream, 

A  range  of  low  blue  hills,  the  far 
First  whitethroat's  ecstasy  unfurled: 

And  we  are  overlords  of  change, 
In  the  glad  morning  of  the  world, 

• 
Though  we  should  fare  as  they  whose  life 

Time  takes  within  his  hands  to  wring 
Between  the  winter  and  the  sea, 

The  weary  pensioners  of  Spring. 


At  the   Voice  of  a  Bird  27 


AT  THE   VOICE  OF  A  BIRD 

Consurgent  ad  vocem  volucris. 

Call  to  me,  thrush, 
When  night  grows  dim. 

When  dreams  unform 
And  death  is  far! 

When  hoar  dews  flush 
On  dawn's  rathe  brim, 

Wake  me  to  hear 

Thy  wildwood  charm. 


28  Loiv  Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


As  a  lone  rush 

/istir  in  the  slim 
White  stream  where  sheer 

Blue  mornings  are. 

Stir  the  keen  hush 

On  twilight's  rim 
When  my  own  star 

Is  white  and  clear. 

Fly  low  to  brush 
Mine  eyelids  grim, 

Where  sleep  and  storm 
Will  set  their  bar; 


At  the   Voice  of  a  Bird 


For  God  shall  crush 
Spring  balm  for  him, 

Stark  on  his  bier 
Past  fault  or  harm, 

Who  once,  as  flush 
Of  day  might  skim 

The  dusk,  afar 
In  sleep  shall  hear 

Thy  song's  cool  rush 
With  joy  rebrim 

The  world,  and  calm 
The  deep  with  cheer. 


30  Lozv  Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


Then,  Heartsease,  hush  ! 

If  sense  grow  dim, 
Desire  shall  steer 

Us  home  from  far. 


When  the  Guelder  Roses  Bloom  31 


WHEN  THE  GUELDER  ROSES  BLOOM 

When  the  Guelder  roses  bloom, 
Love,  the  vagrant,  wanders  home. 

Love,  that  died  so  long  ago. 

As  we  deemed,  in  dark  and  snow, 

Comes  back  to  the  door  again, 
Guendolen,  Guendolen. 


32  Low  Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


In  his  hands  a  few  bright  flowers, 
Gathered  in  the  earlier  hours, 

Speedwell-blue,  and  poppy-red. 
Withered  in  the  sun  and  dead, 

With  a  history  to  each, 

Are  more  eloquent  than  speech. 

In  his  eyes  the  welling  tears 
Plead  against  the  lapse  of  years. 


When  the  Guelder  Roses  Bloom  33 


And  that  mouth  we  knew  so  well, 
Hath  a  pilgrim's  tale  to  tell. 

Hear  his  litany  again  : 

"  Guendolen,  Guendolen  !  " 

**  No,  love,  no,  thou  art  a  ghost ! 
Love  long  since  in  night  was  lost. 

"Thou  art  but  the  shade  of  him, 
For  thine  eves  are  sad  and  dim." 


34  L.OW   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


"  Nay,  but  they  will  shine  once  more, 
Glad  and  brighter  than  before, 

"  If  thou  bring  me  but  again 
To  my  mother  Guendolen  ! 

"  These  dark  flowers  are  for  thee, 
Gathered  by  the  lonely  sea. 

"  And  these  singing  shells  for  her 
Who  first  called  me  wanderer, 


m^ai  the  Gueldtr  Roses  Bloom  35 


}         t 


*'  In  whose  beauty  glad  I  grew, 
When  this  weary  life  was  mt^^.'* 

Hear  him  raving  !     "It  is  I. 
Love  once  born  can  never  die." 

"  Thou,  poor  love,  thou  art  gone  mad 
With  the  hardships  thou  hast  had. 

*•  True,  it  is  the  spring  of  year, 
But  thy  mother  is  not  here. 


36  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pr^ 


"True,  the  Guelder  roses  bloom 
As  long  since  about  this  room, 

"Where  thy  blessed  self  was  born 
In  the  early  golden  morn 

"  But  the  years  are  dead,  good  lack  ! 
Ah,  love,  why  hast  thou  come  back, 

"  Pleading  at  the  door  again, 
*Guendolen,  Guendolen'?" 


IV/ieu  the  Cueliivr  Ro^es  Bloom         3; 


/,        \ 


When  the  Guelder  roses  bloom, 
And  the  vernal  stars  resume 

Their  old  purple  sweep  and  range, 
I  can  hear  a  whisper  strange 

As  the  wind  gone  daft  again, 
"  Guendolen,  Gnendolen  !  " 

"When  the  Guelder  roses  blow, 
Love  that  died  so  long  ago, 


2,S  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


"Why  wilt  thou  return  so  oft, 
With  that  whisper  sad  and  soft 

"On  thy  pleading  lips  again, 
'Guendolen,  Guendolen'  !  " 

Still  the  Guelder  roses  bloom. 
And  the  sunlight  fills  the  room. 

Where  love's  shadow  at  the  door 
Falls  upon  the  dusty  floor. 


IV/ien  t/w  GiuUitr  Roses  Bloo 


in 


And  his  eyes  are  sad  and  grave 
With  the  tenderness  they  crave, 

Seeing  in  the  broken  rhyme 
Y     The  significance  of  time, 

.''•','.■"''" 

Wondrous  eyes  that  know  not  sin 
From  his  brother  death,  wherein 

I  can  see  thy  look  again, 
Guendolen,  Guendolen. 


39 


40  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


And  love  with  no  more  to  say, 
In  this  lovely  world  to-day 

Where  the  Guelder  roses  bloom, 
Than  the  record  on  a  tomb. 

Only  moves  his  lips  again, 
"  Guendolen,  Guendolen  ! " 

Then  he  passes  up  the  road 
From  this  dwelling,  where  he  bode 


When  tJie  Guelder  Roses  Bloom         41 


In  the  by-gone  3^ears.     And  still, 
As  he  mounts  the  sunset  hill 

Where  the  Guelder  roses  blow 
With  their  drifts  of  summer  snow, 

I  can  hear  him,  like  one  dazed 
At  a  phantom  he  has  raised. 

Murmur  o'er  and  o'er  again, 
**  Guendolen,  Guendolen  !  " 


42  Lolu  Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


And  thus  every  year,  I  know. 
When  the  Guelder  roses  blow, 

Love  will  wander  by  my  door, 
Till  the  spring  returns  no  more  ; 

Till  no  more  I  can  withstand, 
But  must  rise  and  take  his  hand 

Through  the  countries  of  the  night, 
Where  he  walks  by  his  own  sight, 


jy/ien  the  Guelder  Roses  Bloom         43 


To  the  mountains  of  a  dawn 
That  has  never  yet  come  on, 

Out  of  this  fair  land  of  doom 
Where  the  Guelder  roses  bloom, 

Till  I  come  to  thee  again, 
Guendolen,  Guendolen. 


44  ^ow  Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


SEVEN   THINGS 

The  fields  of  earth  are  sown 

From  the  hand  of  the  striding  rain, 
And  kernels  of  joy  are  strewn 

Abroad  for  the  harrow  of  pain. 

I. 

The  first  song- sparrow  brown 
That  wakes  the  earliest  spring, 

When  time  and  fear  sink  down, 
And  death  is  a  fabled  thing. 


Seven   Things  45 


II. 

The  stealing  of  that  first  dawn 

Over  the  rosy  brow, 
When  thy  soul  said,  "  World,  fare  on, 

For  Heaven  is  here  and  now!  " 

III. 

The  crimson  shield  of  the  sun 

On  the  wall  of  this  House  of  Doom, 

With  the  garb  of  war  undone 
At  last  in  the  narrow  room. 

IV. 

A  heart  that  abides  to  the  end. 

As  the  hills  for  sureness  and  peace, 

And  is  neither  weary  to  wend 
Nor  reluctant  at  last  of  release. 


46  Loiv   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


V. 

Thy  mother's  cradle  croon 
To  haunt  thee  over  the  deep, 

Out  of  the  land  of  Boon 
Into  the  land  of  Sleep. 

VI. 

The  sound  of  the  sea  in  storm, 

Hearing  its  captain  cry, 
When  the  wild,  white  riders  form, 

And  the  Ride  to  the  Dark  draws  nigh. 

VII. 

But  last  and  best,  the  urge 

Of  the  great  world's  desire, 
Whose  being  from  core  to  verge 

Only  attains  to  aspire. 


A  Sea  Child  47 


A  SEA  CHILD 

The  lover  of  child  Marjory 

Had  one  white  hour  of  life  brim  full; 
Now  the  old  nurse,  the  rocking  sea, 

Hath  him  to  lull. 

The  daughter  of  child  Marjory 

Hath  in  her  veins,  to  beat  and  run, 

The  glad  indomitable  sea, 
The  strong  white  sun. 


48  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


PULVIS  ET  UMBRA 

Thkre  is  dust  upon  my  fingers, 
Pale  gray  dust  of  beaten  wings, 

Where  a  great  moth  came  and  settled 
From  the  night's  blov/n  winnowings. 

Harvest  with  her  low  red  planets 

Wheeling  over  Arrochar  ; 
And  the  lonely  hopeless  calling 

Of  the  bell-buoy  on  the  bar, 


Pulvis  et  Umbra 


I        \ 


Where  the  sea  with  her  old  secret 
Moves  in  sleep  and  cannot  rest. 

From  that  dark  beyond  my  doorway, 
Silent  the  unhidden  guest 

Came  and  tarried,  fearless,  gentle, 
Vagrant  of  the  starlit  gloom, 

One  frail  waif  of  beauty  fronting 
Immortality  and  doom  ; 

Through  the  chambers  of  the  twilight 
Roaming  from  the  vast  outland, 

Resting  for  a  thousand  heart-beats 
In  the  hollow  of  my  hand. 


49 


50  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


"  Did  the  volley  of  a  thrush-song 

Lodge  among  some  leaves  and  dew 
Hillward,  then  across  the  gloaming 
This  dark  mottled  thing  was  you  ? 

"  Or  is  my  mute  guest  whose  coming 
So  unheralded  befell 
From  the  border  wilds  of  dreamland, 
Only  whimsy  Ariel, 

"  Gleaning  with  the  wind,  in  furrows 
Lonelier  than  dawn  to  reap, 
Dust  and  shadow  and  forgetting. 
Frost  and  reverie  and  sleep  ? 


Pulvis  et  Umbra     •  5 1 


"  In  the  hush  when  Cleopatra 

Felt  the  darkness  reel  and  cease, 
Was  thy  soul  a  wan  blue  lotus 
Laid  upon  her  lips  for  peace  ? 

"  And  through  all  the  years  that  wayward 
Passion  in  one  mortal  breath, 
Making  thee  a  thing  of  silence. 
Made  thee  as  the  lords  of  death  ? 

"  Or  did  goblin  men  contrive  thee 
In  the  forges  of  the  hills 
Out  of  thistle-drift  and  sundown 
Lost  amid  their  tawny  rills, 


52  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


*'  Every  atom  on  their  anvil 

Beaten  fine  and  bolted  home, 
Every  quiver  wrought  to  cadence 
From  the  rapture  of  a  gnome  ? 

"  Then  the  lonely  mountain  wood-wind, 
Straying  up  from  dale  to  dale, 
Gave  thee  spirit,  free  forever, 
Thou  immortal  and  so  frail  ! 

"  Surely  thou  art  not  that  sun-bright 
Psyche,  hoar  with  age,  and  hurled 
On  the  northern  shore  of  Lethe, 
To  this  wan  Auroral  world  ! 


Piilvis  ct  Umbra  53 


**  Ghost  of  Psyche,  uncompanioned, 
Are  the  yester-years  all  done  ? 
Have  the  oars  of  Charon  ferried 
Ail  thy  playmates  from  the  sun  ? 


"  In  thy  wings  the  beat  and  breathing 
Of  the  wind  of  life  abides, 
And  the  night  whose  sea-gray  cohorts 
Swing  the  stars  up  with  the  tides. 

"  Did  they  once  make  sail  and  wander 
Through  the  trembling  harvest  sky, 
Where  the  silent  Northern  streamers 
Change  and  rest  not  till  they  die  ? 


54  L.01V   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


"  Or  from  clouds  that  tent  and  people 
The  blue  firmamental  waste, 

"  Did  they  learn  the  noiseless  secret       — 
Of  eternity's  unhaste?  » 

"  Where  learned  they  to  rove  and  loiter. 
By  the  margin  of  what  sea  ? 
Was  it  with  outworn  Demeter, 
Searching  for  Persephone  ? 

"  Or  did  that  girl-queen  behold  thee 
In  the  fields  of  moveless  air  ? 
Did  these  wings  which  break  no  whisper 
Brush  the  poppies  in  her  hair? 


Piiivis  et   Umbra  55 


"  Is  it  thence  they  wear  the  pulvil  — 
Ash  of  ruined  days  and  sleep, 
And  the  two  great  orbs  of  splendid 
Melting  sable  deep  on  deep  ! 

*'  Pilot  of  the  shadow  people, 

Steering  whither  by  what  star 
Hast  thou  come  to  hapless  port  here, 
Thou  gray  ghost  of  Arrochar  ? " 

For  man  walks  the  world  with  mourning 
Down  to  death,  and  leaves  no  trace, 

With  the  dust  upon  his  forehead, 
And  the  shadow  in  his  face. 


50  Low  Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


Pillared  dust  and  fleeing  shadow 
As  the  roadside  wind  goes  by, 

And  the  fourscore  years  that  vanish 
In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  ■         ' 

Beauty,  the  fine  frosty  trace-work 
Of  some  breath  upon  the  pane  ; 

Spirit,  the  keen  wintry  moonlight 
Flashed  thereon  to  fade  again. 

Beauty,  the  white  clouds  a-building 
When  God  said  and  it  was  done  ; 

Spirit,  the  sheer  brooding  rapture 
Where  no  mid-day  brooks  no  sun.' 


Pulvis  et  Umbra  57 


/        1 


So.     And  here,  the  open  casement 
Where  my  fellow-mate  goes  free  ; 
-  Eastward,  the  untrodden  star-road 
And  the  long  wind  on  the  sea 

What's  to  hinder  but  I  follow 
This  my  gypsy  guide  afar, 

When  the  bugle  rouses  slumber 
Sounding  taps  on  Arrochar  ? 

"  Where,  my  brother,  wends  the  by-way, 
To  what  bourne  beneath  what  sun, 
Thou  and  I  are  set  to  travel 

Till  the  shifting  dream  be  done  ? 


Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


"  Comrade  of  the  dusk,  forever 
I  pursue  the  endless  way 
Of  the  dust  and  shadew  kindred,-'-—  — 
Thou  art  perfect  for  a  day.  ' 

''  Yet  from  beauty  marred  and  broken, 
Joy  and  memory  and  tears, 
I  shall  crush  the  clearer  honey    • 
In  the  harvest  of  the  years.         ' 

"  Thou  art  faultless  as  a  flower  - 

Wrought  of  sun  and  wind  and  snow, 

I  survive  the  fault  and  failure.       ■        - 

The  wise  Fates  will  have  it  so.     ^^r-  \ 


Piilvis  et  Umbra  59 


"  For  man  walks  the  world  in  twilight, 
But  the  nnorn  shall  wipe  all  trace 
Of  the  dust  from  off  his  forehead, 
And  the  shadow  from  his  face. 


'*  Cheer  thee  on,  my  tidings-bearer  ! 
All  the  valor  of  the  North 
Mounts  as  soul  from  flesh  escaping 

Through  the  night,  and  bids  thee  forth. 

<*  Go,  and  when  thou  hast  discovered 

Her  whose  dark  eyes  match  thy  wings, 
Bid  that  lyric  heart  beat  lighter 

For  the  joy  thy  beauty  brings."     .   -.' 


6o  Low  Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


Then  I  leaned  far  out  and  lifted 
My  light  guest  up,  and  bade  sj)eed 

On  the  trail  where  no  one  tarries  

That  wayfarer  few  will  heed. 

Pale  gray  dust  upon  my  fingers  ; 

And  from  this  my  cabined  room 
The  white  soul  of  eager  message 

Racing  seaward  in  the  gloom. 

Far  off  shore,  the  sweet  low  calling 
Of  the  bell-buoy  on  the  bar. 

Warning  night  of  dawn  and  ruin 
Lonelily  on  Arrochar. 


Through  the   Twilight  6i 


THROUGH  THE  TWILIGHT 

The  red  vines  bar  my  window  way; 

T^e  Autumn  sleeps  beside  his  fire, 
For  he  has  sent  this  fleet-foot  day 
A  year's  march  back  to  bring  to  me 

One  face  whose  smile  is  my  desire, 
Its  light  my  star. 

Surely  you  will  come  near  and  speak, 

This  calm  of  death  from  the  day  to  sever  ! 
,  And  so  I  shall  draw  down  your  cheek 
Close  to  my  face — So  close  ! — and  know 
God's  hand  between  our  hands  forever 
Will  set  no  bar. 


•     62  Lozu   Tide  on  Grand  Pr^ 


Before  the  dusk  falls — even  now 
I  know  your  step  along  the  gravel, 

And  catch  your  quiet  poise  of  brow, 

And  wait  so  long  till  you  turn  the  latch  ! 
Is  the  way  so  hard  you  had  to  travel  ? 

:—.,..         Is  the  land  so  far?    _    -      .. 

The  dark  has  shut  your  eyes  from  mine, 
But  in  this  hush  of  brooding  weather 

A  gleam  on  twilight's  gathering  line    .  . 

Has  riven  the  barriers  of  dream  : 
Soul  of  my  soul,  we  are  together 
As  the  angels  are  ! 


Carnations  in  Winter 


CARNATIONS  IN  WINTER 

Your  carmine  flakes  of  bloom  to-night 
The  fire  of  wintry  sunsets  liold  ; 

Again  in  dreams  you  burn  to  light 
A  far  Canadian  garden  old. 

The  blue  north  summer  over  it 
Is  bland  with  long  ethereal  days  ; 

The  gleaming  martins  wheel  and  flit 
Where  breaks  your  sun  down  orient  ways. 


^l 


64  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


There,  when  the  gradual  twilight  falls, 
Through  (luietudes  of  dusk  afar. 

Hermit  antiphonal  hermit  rails 

From  hills  below  the  first  pale  star. 

Then  in  your  passionate  love's  foredoom 
Once  more  your  spirit  stirs  the  air, 

And  you  are  lifted  through  the  gloom 
To  warm  the  coils  of  her  dark  hair. 


A  Northern    Vigil  5. 


A  NORTHERN  VIGIL 

Here  by  the  gray  north  sea, 
In  the  wintry  heart  of  the  wild, 

Comes  the  old  dream  of  thee, 
Guendolen,  mistress  and  child. 

The  heart  of  the  forest  grieves 
In  the  drift  against  my  door; 

A  voice  is  under  the  eaves, 
A  footfall  on  the  floor. 


66  Low  Tide  07i  Grand  Pre 


Threshold,  mirror  and  hall, 
Vacant  and  strangely  aware, 

Wait  for  their  soul's  recall 
With  the  dumb  expectant  air. 

Here  when  the  smouldering  west 
Burns  down  into  the  sea, 

I  take  no  heed  of  rest 

And  keep  the  watch  for  thee. 

I  sit  by  the  fire  and  hear 
The  restless  wind  go  by. 

On  the  long  dirge  and  drear. 
Under  the  low  bleak  sky. 


A  Northern    Vigil  6y 


When  day  puts  out  to  sea 

And  night  makes  in  for  land, 

There  is  no  lock  for  thee, 
Each  door  awaits  thy  hand  ! 

When  night  goes  over  the  hill 
And  dawn  comes  down  the  dale, 

It's  O  for  the  wild  sweet  will 
That  shall  no  more  prevail  ! 

When  the  zenith  moon  is  round. 
And  snow-wraiths  gather  and  run, 

And  there  is  set  no  bound 
To  love  beneath  the  sun, 


68  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


O  wayward  will,  come  near 
The  old  mad  willful  way, 

The  soft  mouth  at  my  ear 
With  words  too  sweet  to  say  ! 

Come,  for  the  night  is  cold, 
The  ghostly  moonlight  fills 

Hollow  and  rift  and  fold 
Of  the  eerie  Ardise  hills  ! 

The  windows  of  my  room 
Are  dark  with  bitter  frost, 

The  stillness  aches  with  doom 
Of  something  loved  and  lost. 


A   NortJwrn    \^igil  6q 


Outside,  the  great  blue  star 
Burns  in  the  ghostland  pale, 

Where  giant  Algebar 

Holds  on  the  endless  trail. 

Come,  for  the  years  are  long. 
And  silence  keeps  the  door, 

Where  shapes  with  the  shadows  throng 
The  firelit  chamber  floor. 

Come,  for  thy  kiss  was  warm, 
With  the  red  embers'  glare 

Across  thy  folding  arm 
And  dark  tumultuous  hair ! 


70  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


And  though  thy  coming  rouse 
The  sleep-cry  of  no  bird, 

The  keepers  of  the  house 
Shall  tremble  at  thy  word. 

Come,  for  the  soul  is  free  ! 

In  all  the  vast  dreamland 
There  is  no  lock   for  thee. 

Each  door  awaits  thy  hand. 

Ah,  not  in  dreams  at  all. 
Fleering,  perishing,  dim, 

But  thy  old  self,  supple  and  tall, 
Mistress  and  child  of  whim  ! 


A  Nor  them   Vigil  yi 


The  proud  imperious  guise, 

Impetuous  and  serene, 
The  sad  mysterious  eyes, 

And  dignity  of  mien  ! 

Yea,  wilt  thou  not  return. 

When  the  late  hill-winds  veer, 

And  the  bright  hill-flowers  burn 
With  the  reviving  year  ? 

When  April  comes,  and  the  sea 

Sparkles  as  if  it  smiled, 
Will  they  restore  to  me 

My  dark  Love,  empress  and  child  ? 


72  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


The  curtains  seem  to  part; 

A  sound  is  on  the  stair, 
As  if  at  the  last     ...     I  start; 

Only  the  wind  is  there.  ' 

Lo,  now  far  on  the  hills 

The  crimson  fumes  uncurled, 

Where  the  caldron  mantles  and  spills 
Another  dawn  on  the  world  ! 


The  Eavesdropper  y-i 


THE  EAVESDROPPER 

In  a  still  room  at  hush  of  dawn, 
My  Love  and  I  lay  side  by  side 

And  heard  the  roaming  forest  wind 
Stir  in  the  paling  autumn-tide. 

I  watched  her  earth -brown  eyes  grow  glad 
Because  the  round  day  was  so  fair; 

While  memories  of  reluctant  night 
Lurked  in  the  blue  dusk  of  her  hair, 


74  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


Outside,  a  yellow  maple  tree, 
Shifting  upon  the  silvery  blue 

With  small  innumerable  sound. 

Rustled  to  let  the  sunlight  through. 

The  livelong  day  the  elvish  leaves 

Danced  with  their  shadows  on  the  floor; 

And  the  lost  children  of  the  wind 

Went  straying  homeward  by  our  door. 

And  all  the  swarthy  afternoon 

We  watched  the  great  deliberate  sun 

Walk  through  the  crimsoned  hazy  world, 
Counting  his  hilltops  one  by  one. 


The  Eavesdropper  75 


Then  as  the  purple  twilight  came 

And  touched  the  vines  along  our  eaves, 

Another  Shadow  stood  without 

And  gloomed  the  dancing  of  the  leaves. 

The  silence  fell  on  my  Love's  lips; 

Her  great  brown  eyes  were  veiled  and  sad 
With  pondering  some  maze  of  dream, 

Though  all  the  splendid  year  was  glad. 

Restless  and  vague  as  a  gray  wind 

Her  heart  had  grown,  she  knew  not  why. 

But  hurrying  to  the  open  door, 
Against  the  verge  of  western  sky 


76  *  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


I  saw  retreating  on  the  hills, 
Looming  and  sinister  and  black, 

The  stealthy  figure  swift  and  huge 

Of  One  who  strode  and  looked  not  back. 


///  Apple   Time  >jy 


IN  APPLE  TIME 

The  apple  harvest  days  are  here, 
The  boding  apple  harvest  days, 
And  down  the  flaming  valley  ways, 

The  foresters  of  time  draw  near. 

Through  leagues  of  bloom  I  went  with  Spring, 
To  call  you  on  the  slopes  of  morn, 
Where  in  imperious  song  is  borne 

The  wild  heart  of  the  goldenwing. 


yS  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Prv 


I  roamed  through  alien  summer  lands, 
I  sought  your  beauty  near  and  far; 
To-day,  where  russet  shadows  are, 

I  hold  your  face  between  my  hands. 

On  runnels  dark  by  slopes  of  fern. 
The  hazy  undern  sleeps  in  sun. 
Remembrance  and  desire,  undone. 

From  old  regret  to  dreams  return. 

The  apple  harvest  time  is  here. 
The  tender  apple  harvest  time; 
A  sheltering  calm,  unknown  at  prime, 

Settles  upon  the  brooding  year. 


Wancitrer 


WANDERER 


Wanderer,  wanderer,  whither  away  ? 
What  saith  the  morning  unto  thee  ? 
"  Wanderer,  wanderer,  hither,  come  hither. 
Into  the  eld  of  the  East  with  me!" 

Saith  the  wide  wind  of  the  low  red  morning. 
Making  in  from  the  gray  rough  sea. 
''  Wanderer,  come,  of  the  footfall  weary, 
And  heavy  at  heart  as  the  sad-heart  sea. 


79 


8o  '   Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


"  For  long  ago,  when  the  world  was  making, 
I  walked  through  Eden  with  God  for  guide; 
And  since  that  time  in  my  heart  forever 
His  calm  and  wisdom  and  peace  abide. 

"  I  am  thy  spirit  and  thy  familiar, 

Child  of  the  teeming  earth's  unrest! 
Before  God's  joy  upon  gloom  begot  thee. 

I  had  hungeredand searched  and  ended  tne  quest. 

"I  sit  by  the  roadside  wells  of  knowledge; 

I  haunt  the  streams  of  the  springs  of  thought; 
But  because  my  voice  is  the  voice  of  silence, 
The  heart  within  thee  regardeth  not. 


Wanderer  gj 


"  Yet  I  await  thee,  assured,  unimpatient, 

Till  thy  small  tumult  of  striving  be  past. 
How  long,  O  wanderer,  wilt  thou  a- weary. 
Keep  thee  afar  from  my  arms  at  the  last  ? " 

II 

Wanderer,  wanderer,  whither  away  ? 
What  saith  the  high  noon  unto  thee  ? 
''  Wanderer,  wanderer,  hither,  turn  hither, 
Far  to  the  burning  South  with  me," 

Saith  the  soft  wind  on  the  high  June  headland, 
Sheering  up  from  the  summer  sea, 
''  While  the  implacable  warder,  Oblivion, 
Sleeps  on  the  marge  of  a  foamless  sea! 


82  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


'*  Come  where  the  urge  of  desire  availeth, 
And  no  fer.r  follows  the  children  of  men; 
For  a  handful  of  dust  is  the  only  heirloom 
The  morrow  bequeaths  to  its  morrow  again. 

'*  Touch  and  feel  how  the  flesh  is  perfect 
Beyond  the  compass  of  dream  to  be! 
'  Bone  of  my  bone,'  said  God  to  Adam; 
'Core  of  my  core,'  say  I  to  thee. 

*'  Look  and  see  how  the  form  is  goodly 
Beyond  the  reach  of  desire  and  art! 
For  he  who  fashioned  the  world  so  easily 
Laughed  in  his  sleeve  as  he  walked  apart. 


Wanderer  ^^ 


"  Therefore,  O  wanderer,  cease  from  desiring; 
Take  the  wide  province  of  seaway  and  sun! 
Here  for  the  infinite  quench  of  thy  craving. 
Infinite  yearning  and  bliss  are  one." 

Ill 
Wanderer,  wanderer,  whither  away  ? 
What  saith  the  evening  unto  thee  ? 
"  Wanderer,  wanderer,  hither,  haste  hither. 
Into  the  glad-heart  West  with  me!  " 

Saith  the  strong  wind  of  the  gold-green  twilight, 
Gathering  out  of  the  autumn  hills, 
'*  I  am  the  word  of  the  world's  first  dreamer 

Who  woke  when  Freedom  walked  on  the  hills. 


o4  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


"  And  the  secret  triumph  from  daring  to  doing, 
From  musing  to  marble,  I  will  be, 
Till  the  last  fine  fleck  of  the  world  is  finished. 
And  Freedom  shall  walk  alone  by  the  sea. 

*'  Who  is  thy  heart's  lord,  who  is  thy  hero  ? 
Bruce  or  Caesar  or  Charlemagne, 
Hannibal,  Olaf,  Alaric,  Roland  ? 

Dare  as  they  dared  and  the  deed's  done  again! 

*'  Here  where  they  come  of  the  habit  immortal. 
By  the  open  road  to  the  land  of  the  Name, 
Splendor  and  homage  and  wealth  await  thee 
Of  builded  cities  and  bruited  fame. 


Wanderer  85 


**  Let  loose  the  conquering  toiler  within  thee; 
Know  the  large  rapture  of  deeds  begun! 
The  joy  of  the  hand  that  hews  for  beauty 
Is  the  dearest  solace  beneath  the  sun." 

IV 

Wanderer,  wanderer,  whither  away  ? 
What  saith  the  midnight  unto  thee  ? 
•*  Wanderer,  wanderer,  hither  turn  home, 
Back  to  thy  North  at  last  to  me! " 

Saith  the.  great  forest  wind  and  lonely, 
Out  of  the  stars  and  the  wintry  hills. 
*'  Weary,  bethink  thee  of  rest,  and  remember 
Thy  waiting  auroral  Ardise  hills! 


86  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


*'  Was  it  not  I,  when  thy  mother  bore  thee 
In  the  sweet,  solemn  April  night, 
Took  thee  safe  in  my  arms  to  fondle, 
Filled  thy  dream  with  the  old  delight  ? 

'*  Told  thee  tales  of  more  marvelous  summers 
Of  the  far  away  and  the  long  ago, 
Made  thee  my  own  nurse-child  forever 
In  the  tender  dear  dark  land  of  the  snow  ? 

**  Have  I  not  rocked  thee,  have  I  not  lulled  thee, 
Crooned  thee  in  forest,  and  cradled  in  foam. 
Then  with  a  smile  from  the  hearthstone  of  child- 
hood 
Bade  thee  farewell  when  thy  heart  bade  thee 
roam  ? 


Wanderer  Sy 


•'  Ah,  my  wide -wanderer,  thou  blessed  vagrant, 
Dear  will  thy  footfall  be  nearing  my  door. 
How  the  glad  tears  will  giv-.  vent  at  thy  coming. 
Wayward  or  sad-heart  to  wander  no  more!" 

V 

Morning  and  midday  I  wander,  and  evening, 

April  and  harvest  and  golden  fall; 
Seaway  or  hillward,  taut  sheet  or  saddle-bow, 

Only  the  night  wind  brings  solace  at  all. 

Then  when  the  tide  of  all  being  and  beauty 
Ebbs  to  the  utmost  before  the  first  dawn, 

Comes  the  still  voice  of  the  morrow  revealing 
Inscrutable  valorous  hope — and  is  gone. 


88  Low  Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


Therefore  is  joy  more  than  sorrow,  foreseeing 
The  lust  of  the  mind  and  the  lure  of  the  eye 

And  the  pride  of  the  hand   have  their  hour  of 
triumph,  ^ 

But  the  dream  of  the  heart  will  endure  by-and-by. 


Afoot  8^ 


AFOOT 

There's  a  garden  in  the  South 
Where  the  early  violets  come, 

Where  they  strew  the  floor  of  April 
With  their  purple,  bloom  by  bloom. 

There  the  tend.-r  peach-trees  blow, 
Pink  against  the  red  brick  wall. 

And  the  hand  of  twilight  hushes 
The  rain-children's  least  footfall, 


90  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


Till  at  midnight  I  can  hear 

The  dark  Mother  croon  and  lean 

Close  above  me.     And  her  whisper 
Bids  the  vagabonds  convene. 

Then  the  glad  and  wayward  heart 
Dreams  a  dream  it  must  obey  ; 

And  the  wanderer  within  me 
Stirs  a  foot  and  will  not  stay. 

I  would  journey  far  and  wide 
Through  the  provinces  of  spring. 

Where  the  gorgeous  white  azaleas 
Hear  the  sultry  yorlin  sing. 


Afoot 


91 


I  would  wander  all  the  hills 

Where  my  fellov.'-vagrants  wend, 

Following  the  trails  of  shadows 
To  the  country  where  they  end. 

Well  I  know  the  gypsy  kin, 
Roving  foot  and  restless  hand, 

And  the  eyes  in  dark  elusion 

Dreaming  down  the  summer  land. 

On  the  frontier  of  desire 
I  will  drink  the  last  regret, 

And  then  forth  beyond  the  morrow 
Where  I  may  but  half  forget. 


92  'Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


So  another  year  shall  pass, 

Till  some  noon  the  gardener  Sun 

Wanders  forth  to  lay  his  finger 
On  the  peach-buds  one  by  one. 

And  the  Mother  there  once  more 
Will  rewhisper  her  dark  word, 

That  my  brothers  all  may  wonder, 
Hearing  then  as  once  I  heard. 

There  will  come  the  whitethroat's  cry, 
That  far  lonely  silver  strain, 

Piercing,  like  a  sweet  desire. 
The  seclusion  of  the  rain. 


Afoot 


And  though  I  be  far  away, 
When  the  early  violets  come 

Smiling  at  the  door  with  April, 
Say,  <'  The  vagabonds  are  home 


>) 


93 


94  'Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


WAYFARING 

Across  the  harbor's  tangled  yards 
We  watch  the  flaring  sunset  fail  ; 

Then  the  forever  questing  stars 
File  down  along  the  vanished  trail, 

To  no  discovered  country,  where 
They  will  forgather  when  the  hands 

Of  the  strong  Fates  shall  take  away 
Their  burdens  and  unloose  their  bands. 


Wayfaring  95 


Westward  and  lone  the  hill-road  gray 
Mounts  to  the  skyline  sheer  and  wan, 

Where  many  a  weary  dream  puts  forth 
To  strike  the  trail  where  they  are  gone. 

.  The  sleepless  guide  to  that  outland 

Is  the  great  Mother  of  us  all, 
Whose  molded  dust  and  dew  we  are 
With  the  blown  flowers  by  the  wall. 

Girt  with  the  twilight  she  is  grave. 
The  strong  companion,  wise  and  free  ; 

She  leads  beyond  the  dales  of  time, 
The  earldom  of  the  calling  sea— 


96  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


Beyond  these  dull  green  miles  of  dike, 
And  gleaming  breakers  on  the  bar — ■ 

To  the  white  kingdom  of  her  lord, 

The  nameless  Word,  whose  breath  we  are. 

And  all  the  world  is  but  a  scheme 

Of  busy  children  in  the  street, 
A  play  they  follow  and  forget 

On  summer  evenings,  pale  with  heat. 

The  dusty  courtyard  flags  and  walls 

Are  like  a  prison  gate  of  stone. 
To  every  spirit  for  whose  breath 

The  long  sweet  hill-winds  once  have  blown. 


Wayfaring  ^ 


But  waiting  in  the  fields  for  them 
I  see  the  ancient  Mother  stand, 

With  the  old  courage  of  her  smile, 
The  patience  of  her  sunbrown  hand. 

They  heed  her  not,  until  there  comes 
A  breath  of  sleep  upon  their  eyes, 

A  drift  of  dust  upon  their  face  ; 
Then  in  the  closing  dusk  they  rise, 

And  turn  them  to  the  empty  doors  ; 

But  she  within  whose  hands  alone 
The  days  are  gathered  up  as  fruit, 

Doth  habit  not  in  brick  and  stone. 


98  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


But  where  the  wild  shy  things  abide, 
Along  the  woodside  and  the  wheat, 

Is  her  abiding,  deep  withdrawn  ; 
And  there,  the  footing  of  her  feet. 

There  is  no  common  fame  of  her 
Upon  the  corners,  yet  some  word 

Of  her  most  secret  heritage 

Her  lovers  from  her  lips  have  heard. 

Her  daisies  sprang  where  Chaucer  went  ; 

Her  darkling  nightingales  with  spring 
Possessed  the  soul  of  Keats  for  song  ; 

And  Shelley  heard  her  skylark  sing  ; 


Wayfaring  99 


With  reverent  clear  uplifted  heart 
Wordsworth  beheld  her  daffodils  ; 

And  he  became  too  great  for  haste, 
Who  watched  the  warm  green  Ciimner  hills. 

She  gave  the  apples  of  her  eyes 
For  the  delight  Df  him  who  knew, 

With  all  the  wisdom  of  a  child,  " 

"A  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  grew." 

Still  the  old  secret  shifts,  and  waits 

The  last  interpreter  ;  it  fills 
The  autumn  song  no  ear  hath  heard 

Upon  the  dreaming  Ardise  hills. 


100  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre' 


The  poplars  babble  over  it 

When  waking  winds  of  dawn  go  by  ; 
It  fills  her  rivers  like  a  voice, 

And  leads  her  wanderers  till  they  die. 

She  knows  the  morning  wayp  whereon 
The  windflowers  and  the  wind  confer  ; 

Surely  there  is  not  any  fear 

T^pon  the  farthest  trail  with  her  ! 

And  yet,  what  ails  the  fir-dark  slopes, 
That  all  night  long  the  whippoorwills 

Cry  their  insatiable  cry 

Across  the  sleeping  Ardise  hills  ? 


Wayfaring  loi 


Is  it  that  no  fair  mortal  thing, 

Blown  leaf,  nor  song,  nor  friend  can  stray 
Beyond  the  bourne  and  bring  one  word 

Back  the  irremeable  way  ? 

The  noise  is  hushed  within  the  street ; 

The  summer  twilight  gathers  down  ; 
The  elms  are  still  ;  the  moonlit  spires 

Track  their  long  shadows  through  the  town. 

With  looming  willows  and  gray  dusk 

The  open  hillward  road  is  pale, 
And  the  great  stars  are  white  and  few 

Above  the  lonely  Ardise  trail. 


102  Loiv   Tide  on   Graud  Pre 


And  with  no  haste  nor  any  fear, 
We  are  as  children  going  home 

Along  the  marshes  where  the  wind 
Sleeps  in  the  cradle  of  the  foam. 


The  End  of  the  Trail  103 


THE  END  OF  THE    IRAH. 

ONcr  more  the  hunters  of  the  dusk 
Are  forth  to  search  the  moorlands  wide, 

Among  the  autumn-colored  hills, 
And  wander  by  the  shifting  tide. 

Ail  day  along  the  haze-hung  verge 
They  scour  upon  a  fleeing  trace. 

Between  the  red  sun  and  the  sea, 
Where  haunts  the  vision  of  your  face. 


104  L-ow  Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


The  plane  at.  Martock  lies  and  drinks 
The  long  Septembral  gaze  of  blue; 

The  royal  leisure  of  the  hills 
Hath  wayward  reveries  of  you. 

Far  rovers  of  the  ancient  dream 
Have  all  their  will  of  musing  hours: 

Your  eyes  were  gray-deep  as  the  sea, 
Your  hands  lay  open  in  the  flowers  ! 

From  mining  Rawdon  to  Pereau, 

For  all  the  gold  they  delve  and  share, 

The  goblins  of  the  Ardise  hills 
Can  horde  no  treasure  like  your  hair. 


The  End  of  the  Trail  105 


The  swirling  tide,  the  lonely  gulls, 

The  sweet  low  wood-winds  that  rejoice- 
No  sound  nor  echo  of  the  sea 
But  hath  tradition  of  your  voice. 

The  crimson  leaves,  the  yellow  fruit, 

The  basking  woodlands  mile  on  mile- 
No  gleam  in  all  the  russet  hills 

But  wears  the  solace  of  your  smile. 

A  thousand  cattle  rove  and  feed 
On  the  great  marshes  in  the  sun, 

And  wonder  at  the  restless  sea; 
But  I  am  glad  the  year  is  done, 


lo6  'Loiv   Tide  on  G    xnd  Pre 


Because  I  am  a  wanderer 

Upon  the  roads  of  endless  quest, 
Between  the  hill -wind  and  the  hills, 

Along  the  margin  men  call  rest. 

Because  there  lies  upon  my  lips 
A  whisper  of  the  wind  at  morn, 

A  murmur  of  the  rolling  sea 

Cradling  the  land  where  I  was  born; 

Because  its  sleepless  tides  and  storms 
Are  in  my  heart  for  memory 

And  music,  and  its  gray-green  hills 
Run  white  to  bear  me  company; 


The  End  of  the   Trail  107 


Because  in  that  sad  time  of  year, 
With  April  twilight  on  the  earth 

And  journeying  rain  upon  the  sea, 

With  the  shy  windflowers  was  my  birth; 

Because  I  was  a  tiny  boy 
Among  the  thrushes  of  the  wood, 

And  all  the  rivers  in  the  hills 
Were  playmates  of  my  solitude; 

Because  the  holy  winter  night 

Was  for  my  chamber,  deep  among 

The  dark  pine  forests  by  the  sea, 
With  woven  red  auroras  hung, 


lo8  -Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


Silent  with  frost  and  floored  with  snow, 
With  what  dream  folk  to  people  it 

And  bring  their  stories  from  the  hills, 
When  all  the  splendid  stars  were  lit; 

Therefore  I  house  me  not  with  kin, 
But  journey  as  the  sun  goes  forth, 

By  stream  and  wood  and  marsh  and  sea, 
Through  dying  summers  of  the  North; 

Until,  some  hazy  autumn  day, 
With  yellow  evening  in  the  skies 

And  rime  upon  the  tawny  hills. 

The  far  blue  signal  smoke  shall  rise, 


The  End  of  the  Trail  109 


To  tell  my  scouting  foresters 
Have  beard  the  clarions  of  rest 

Bugling,  along  the  outer  sea, 
The  end  of  failure  and  of  quest. 

Then  all  the  piping  Nixie  folk. 

Where  lonesome  meadow  winds  are  low, 
Through  all  the  valleys  in  the  hills 

Their  river  reeds  shall  blow  and  blow, 

To  lead  me  like  a  joy,  as  when 
The  shining  April  flowers  return, 

Back  to  a  footpath  by  the  sea 
With  scarlet  hip  and  ruined  fern. 


I  lo  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


For  I  must  gain,  ere  the  long  night 
Bury  its  travelers  deep  with  snow, 

That  trail  among  the  Ardise  hills 
Where  first  I  found  you  years  ago. 

I  shall  not  fail,  for  I  am  strong, 
And  Time  is  very  old,  they  say, 

And  somewhere  by  the  quiet  sea 
Makes  no  refusal  to  delay. 

There  will  I  get  me  home,  and  there 
Lift  up  your  face  in  my  brown  hand. 

With  all  the  rosy  rusted  hills 

About  the  heart  of  that  dear  land. 


'Ike   Vagabonds  \\\ 


THE  VAGABONDS 

"  Such  as  \vake  on  the  niglu  and  sleep  on  the  day,  and 
haunt  customable  taverns  and  alehouses  and  routs  about, 
and  no  man  wot  from  whence  they  came,  nor  whither  they 
^o." —Old  English  Statute. 

We  are  the  vagabonds  of  time. 
And  rove  the  yellow  autumn  days, 

When  all  the  roads  are  gray  with  rime 
And  all  the  valleys  blue  with  haze. 

We  came  unlooked  for  as  the  wind 
Trooping  across  the  April  hills, 

When  the  brown  waking  earth  had  dreams 
Of  summer  in  the  Wander  Kills. 


112  Low   Tide  on  Crand  Pre 


How  far  afield  we  joyed  to  fare, 
With  June  in  every  blade  and  tree  ! 

Now  with  the  sea-wind  in  our  hair 
We  turn  our  faces  to  the  sea. 

We  go  unheeded  as  the  stream 

That  wanders  by  the  hill-wood  side, 

Till  the  great  marshes  take  his  hand 
And  lead  him  to  the  roving  tide. 

The  roving  tide,  the  sleeping  hills, 
These  are  the  borders  of  that  zone 

Where  they  may  fare  as  fancy  wills 
Whom  wisdom  smiles  and  calls  her  own. 


The   Vagabonds  113 


It  is  a  country  of  the  sun, 
Full  of  forgotten  yesterdays, 

When  time  takes  Summer  in  his  care, 
And  fills  the  distance  of  her  gaze. 

It  stretches  from  the  open  sea 

To  the  blue  mountains  and  beyond; 

The  world  is  Vagabondia 
To  him  who  is  a  vagabond. 

In  the  beginning  God  made  man 
Qut  of  the  wandering  dust,  men  say; 

And  in  the  end  his  life  shall  be 

A  wandering  wind  and  blown  away. 


114  ^^^   Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


We  are  the  vagabonds  of  time, 
Willing  to  let  the  world  go  by, 

With  joy  supreme,  with  heart  sublime, 
And  valor  in  the  kindling  eye. 

We  have  forgotten  where  we  slept. 
And  guess  not  where  we  sleep  to-night. 

Whether  among  the  lonely  hills 

In  the  pale  streamers'  ghostly  light 

We  shall  lie  down  and  hear  the  frost 
Walk  in  the  dead  leaves  restlessly. 

Or  somewhere  on  the  iron  coast 
Learn  the  oblivion  of  the  sea. 


The  Vagabonds  n? 


It  matters  not.     And  yet  I  dream 
Of  dreams  fulfilled  and  rest  somewhere 

Before  this  restless  heart  is  stilled 
And  all  its  fancies  blown  to  air. 

Had  I  my  will!  .  .  .  The  sun  burns  down 
And  something  plucks  mygarmenfs  hem; 

The  robins  in  their  faded  brown 
Would  lure  me  to  the  south  with  them. 

'Tis  time  for  vagabonds  to  make 
The  nearest  inn.     Far  on  I  hear 

The  voices  of  the  Northern  hills 
Gather  the  vagrants  of  the  year. 


1 1 6  Low   Tide  on  Grand  Pr^ 


Brave  heart,  my  soul !     Let  longings  be  ! 

We  have  another  day  to  wend. 
For  dark  or  waylay  what  care  we 

Who  have  the  lords  of  time  to  friend  ? 

And  if  we  tarry  or  make  haste, 

The  wayside  sleep  can  hold  no  fear. 

Shall  fate  unpoise,  or  whim  perturb, 
The  calm-begirt  in  dawn  austere  ? 

There  is  a  tavern,  I  have  heard, 
Not  far,  and  frugal,  kept  by  One 

Who  knows  the  children  of  the  Word, 
And  welcomes  each  when  day  is  done. 


The   Vagabonds  \  \y 


Some  say  the  house  is  lonely  set 

In  Northern  night,  and  snowdrifts  keep 

The  silent  door;  the  hearth  is  cold, 
And  all  my  fellows  gone  to  sleep.  .  . 

Had  I  my  will !     I  hear  the  sea 
Thunder  a  welcome  on  the  shore; 

I  know  where  lies  the  hostelry 
And  who  should  open  me  the  door. 


ii8  Low  Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


WHITHER 

What  shall  we  do,  dearie, 
Dreaming  such  dreams? 

Will  they  come  true,  dearie? 
Never,  it  seems. 

Leave  the  wise  thrush  alone; 

He  knows  such  things. 
How  rich  the  silences 

Fall  when  he  sings  ! 


Whither  uq 


When  shall  we  come,  dearie, 

Into  that  land 
Once  was  our  home,  dearie, 

Perfect  as  planned  ? 

When  the  wind  calling  us, 

Some  summer  day. 
Into  the  long  ago 

Lures  us  away. 

Where  shall  we  go,  dearie, 

Wandering  thus? 
Far  to  and  fro,  dearie. 

Life  leads  for  us. 


120  Low  Tide  on  Grand  Pre 


Thou  with  the  morrow's  sun 

Hillward  and  free, 
I  to  the  vast  and  hoar 

Lone  of  the  sea. 


1 886-1 893, 


